


Amor Maternus

by LetTheBodyFall



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Stardew Valley - Freeform, alex x farmer, been a while since i wrote lol, i've always wanted to write about some alex and his mom dynamics, stardew valley alex, stardew valley alex's mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetTheBodyFall/pseuds/LetTheBodyFall
Summary: He could see her relaxed smile even from his window at the second floor, radiant, always so radiant, as she tended the delicate flora with practiced ease. He, too, had felt those tender hands. Sometimes she would use them to rake his usually unruly hair as she told him a story before he went to sleep. Other times, she would use those hands to tend to his knee because he was being clumsy that afternoon and tripped. His mother didn’t mind, no. Her remembers her warm embrace as she tried to comfort him while he cried, because some of the other kids laughed at him for being clumsy.“It’s okay,” she would say, time and time again. “Just keep practicing, okay?” The sheer radiance of her smile would always overshadow the jeering looks and awful side-eyes the other kids and adults would give him. She would help him up and pat his clothes to rid of the excess dirt, and held his hand while they walked home.





	Amor Maternus

There were always carnations inside the house. 

They were his mother’s favourite flowers, as noted by its domination in their garden. He loved seeing her working on the flower beds every morning, the wind letting the fragile pink petals flutter listlessly as the sunlight softly hits her auburn hair that was loosely tied at the end and elegantly hanging off her left shoulder. 

He could see her relaxed smile even from his window at the second floor, radiant, always so radiant, as she tended the delicate flora with practiced ease. He, too, had felt those tender hands. Sometimes she would use them to rake his usually unruly hair as she told him a story before he went to sleep. Other times, she would use those hands to tend to his knee because he was being clumsy that afternoon and tripped. His mother didn’t mind, no. Her remembers her warm embrace as she tried to comfort him while he cried, because some of the other kids laughed at him for being clumsy. 

“It’s okay,” she would say, time and time again. “Just keep practicing, okay?” The sheer radiance of her smile would always overshadow the jeering looks and awful side-eyes the other kids and adults would give him. She would help him up and pat his clothes to rid of the excess dirt, and held his hand while they walked home.

* * *

She would teach him how to take care of them whenever he spent time with her. 

In the mornings he’d help her move the ceramic pots where the flowers grew so that they’d get more sunlight. “They need to soak up the rays of the sun, honey,” she would say, her voice a joyful lilt as she patted the ground with her petite hands. “They need it so that can grow up to be healthy.” 

Maybe a little sun would also help him grow up to be healthy. 

* * *

He walked down the stairs, a little sleepy as he spent most of the night watching a rerun of the last semi-final round of the gridball championships. His favourite team didn’t get in, which was a pisser. Grumbling at the memory, he stalked down the stairs into the kitchen where he found his mother tinkering with some sort of stereo or something. 

“Mom?” he said, his voice slightly gruff from waking up. He saw her blink before she looked up, her eyes shining with excitement. “Oh, honey look!” She gestured towards an old.. music player.. thing. It was scratched in multiple places, the handle was pretty worn out, and it had some sort of antenna to it. Diligently, his mother tinkered with the knobs until some sort of static noise flowed out the speakers. With her tongue sticking out, she turned the knobs some more until a more.. coherent sound, akin to something like jazz, resounded. 

Raising a brow, he walked towards his mother while scratching his stomach. His mother turned to him and grinned, eyes twinkling with mirth, before she grabbed his hands and swayed him to the music. 

He laughed, already used to his mother’s shenanigans, and swayed to the music with her. “Did you get this from grandpa?” he asked while he twirled his mother around. The woman chuckled and nodded as she continued swaying with him. Laughing with her, he let go of one of her hands and plucked a carnation from the vase on the table and gently tucked the stem behind her ears. 

This earned another laugh from her and they continued their dance.

* * *

He heard their arguing the minute he stepped inside the house. 

It wasn’t an argument as much as a one-sided screaming match, however. His mother never raised her anybody, no matter how angry she gets. The frequent loud sounds from the kitchen only signified one thing.

 _He_  was here.

He probably ran out of money for his booze and came scurrying back to his mother like the rat he was. 

Pathetic.

Slowly, carefully, he removed his muddied shoes and placed them at the “dirty” mat where they kept the dirty footwear. Collecting his thoughts, he took a deep breath and headed to the kitchen. He saw his mother’s head whip to his direction, her eyes wild with concern.

“So you finally came home, huh?”

The obvious sneer that laced his father’s voice boiled his blood, but his mothers voice resounded in his ears even at a time of pure, utter rage.  _Don’t be like him._

“This is my house too,” he said, confidence tinging his voice. He crossed his arms, the weeks of training he’s been doing evident at the obvious bulge of muscle that protruded from his jacket, as he stood to his full height, pleasing him when he saw that he was a good three inches taller than him. 

He could smell it from here, the pungent smell of alcohol and the rancid scent of vomit. It disgusted him that this man had the audacity to come back to this house when he previously said he would never come back to a bunch of lowlifes that depended too much on his pay (which was complete and utter bull as the man never worked a single day in his entire fucking life). 

The rage in his eyes put a halt to his father’s actions, making him step back as he eyed the two of them. It took him a full minute to realize that if he would do something here, his moron of a son would probably clock him to kingdom come. 

“Tch,” he sneered. “Whatever.” 

Giving his wife a final look, the man took the gold on the table and stalked out he door, tipping the clothes rack as he went. 

The carnations on the vase had wilted. 

* * *

He was alarmed when he heard the coughing. 

He was playing video games when he decided to go to the bathroom before he tackled the next level, knowing full well that it was a boss fight. Patting his damp hands on his jeans, he was about to return to his place in the living room when the hacked coughs of his mother sent him into a run.

“Mom?!” he shrieked. 

The woman, eyes still bright as the morning sun, smiled when she saw him. “I’m fine, darling,” she said with a light laugh. Smiling, she pulled him close and rested her head on his broad shoulders. “Mama’s fine, okay? I’m okay.”

* * *

It was sudden.

He could feel his world stop when the doctors pulled him into the corner, eyes dark and morose. Even before the woman opened her mouth, he knew that his mother was gone. The stillness of the air suffocated him as he watched her mouth move. He could hear no sound, feel no warmth, see no light. 

She was gone.

Wordlessly, they led him to a room. Tentatively, they lifted the sheet and there, his mother lay. A smile still graced her lips, her hands so dainty folded over her stomach.

He looked.

And looked.

He didn’t realize that he was already on the ground, hot tears falling, just falling. He could hear some sort of sound, almost as if people were yelling, but it was muted. 

Everything was muted. 

He tried to breathe but every time he tried to take in a breath, it would fill the crevices of his lungs and choke him. His heart, so heavy, seemed to have slowed down but he could feel the blood rush everywhere, everywhere. 

This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening. She can’t.. She can’t! 

He tried to say her name but his lips won’t move, couldn’t. A strangled cry resounded in the air and once more, he fell. Not willing to bear the burden any longer, he closed his eyes, so dark, so dark, and wept.

* * *

It was raining during the funeral. 

His grandparents held him as he sat at the far side of the room. His eyes were dead, his movements were sluggish, his face was pale and tear-stained. Relatives tried talking to him but he gave no answer. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to  _live_.

His mother was gone and he was devastated. 

When the priest gave his final words, the body of his mother was lowered to the ground, and with this, his grief surged once more, filling every single cell of his body with anguish. 

He called her name, called her like a child lost and scared. He didn’t feel his grandparents holding him. He was numb.

The sun was setting and the air smelled like freshly picked carnations.

* * *

Few years have long passed and here he was, tending the plants his spouse planted for the season. They were going to be turned to wine and juice, he remembered them saying a few days before. 

Speaking of his spouse, he hasn’t seen them at all today. They weren’t in bed when he woke up, wasn’t in the field when he went outside, and wasn’t with the animals when he checked. 

This didn’t happen often so it concerned him for a bit, but let it go as it was probably one of the eccentricities of his spouse. 

It wasn’t until later that day that he saw them exit the green house. They came up to him and grinned before pulling him along. Raising a brow, he noted the muddied pants and chuckled. Probably doing something again, he mused.

When they opened the door to the greenhouse, however, he felt the air in him quickly rush out, his mind blanking and his hands getting clammy. 

At the edge of the building was a little area filled with pots of various sizes. He felt them tug his sleeve and he moved closer and almost choked up at the sight.

His spouse, bless them, nearly filled the large pots with pink carnations, even tossing in a few multicolored ones for aesthetics. He took in a breath, taking in the wonderful peppery scent, as he turned to his partner, who was now leaning against one of their fruit trees. 

“I love you,” he whispered almost reverently, tears prickling his eyes. “I love you so much.”

The farmer smiled and pulled them in for an embrace, kissing his chin, then his temple. “I love you too, Alex.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was also posted in my tumblr account: @starthirstvalleyasks. 
> 
> Inspired by a headcanon by tumblr user @peechpunk and supplemented by @mike-princeofstars.  
> HC by @peechpunk:  
> "hmm. headcanon: alex, though he does like most flowers, likes carnations the most. specifically pink ones. bc they were his mom’s favourites and as a kid there would always be a few around the house tht she took very diligent care of so they always remind him of her"


End file.
